Downward Spiral
by XquidditchxbeaterX
Summary: Troubled, Draco seeks out Harry.


Disclaimer: Not mine, everything belongs to JK Rowling.

AN: I apologize for any mistakes. I hope everyone likes this, and of course, reviews would be greatly appreciated.

Warning: Male/male action, angst

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Reality grated him, his situation grated him, his life grated him. He had to yet again kidnap and torture another victim who had incurred the Dark Lord's rage. He felt like he was tangled up in an elaborate spider web, trapped in his allegiance, forced to face situations of such nature that never diminished in its malignancy no matter how regularly it happened. Thick cords of power the Dark Lord had promised him with entrapped him, and he felt it tightening in a perpetual grip that would surely result in his death some day.

He constantly reminded himself that he was a Death Eater, that he shouldn't feel this way, as if his very soul was slowly dying along with each victim, but he had never been adept at dictating his feelings, and he succeeded no better now.

He hexed and he cursed, every word uttered, every sight imprinted upon his conscience drowning him from the inside, he didn't feel human anymore. Helpless, he schooled his features to portray satisfaction, praying that the other Death Eaters would never notice the slight twitching of his eyes, or the way he bit his bottom lip to prevent it from quivering.

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Returning to the Manor, he apparated away when he deemed everyone to be asleep.

Harry was sleeping. He paused at the doorway of the bedroom, taking in the peaceful form of his potential saviour. But then memories of his deeds came flooding back, and he flinched, inexplicably feeling that he didn't deserve to be saved. He briefly wondered where his self-preserving Slytherin nature had scuttled off to, perhaps Potter's huge reserve of Gryffindor ethics had imbued into him. But this was the only thing that could bring him some moments of much needed reprieve, working more effectively than any potion, and so he clambered onto the only welcoming bed that actually helped him sleep, and roughly turned Harry over so he could face him.

He thanked the fates that there was at least something he could look forward to in his miserable existence. It still amazed him that Harry had let the wards of Grimmauld Place accept him, and that the Chosen One could sleep in the company of a Death eater, even if the said Death Eater had stopped believing in the Dark Lord's farce a long time ago.

Harry's eyes opened blearily, and if he was alarmed about the fact that Draco was towering over him, he didn't show it. Instead he simply lay there, waiting complaisantly for Draco to do anything.

Draco didn't waste a second; he swooped in to capture lips in a harsh and brutal kiss that silently conveyed all his frustrations and hopelessness. Harry offered no resistance, and gave up all control to Draco, knowing that Draco needed it, and didn't question any of the negative feelings that he could sense from Draco's pervading aura.

Perhaps Voldemort had tasked him with an impossible mission, or perhaps they had tortured Draco or his family; he would never know, but he knew that he wouldn't get the answers from the reticent blonde, and didn't pry. He would listen when Draco would open up, whenever he was ready, if he ever will be.

Draco's hands wandered haphazardly, and he growled at the impeding clothes. Unbuttoning shirts, and pulling off pants and underwear, he pressed his too-warm body onto Harry's, needing the full body contact.

Latching onto a protruding collarbone, he grinded his erection into Harry's, and they both groaned at the electrifying sensations zipping through their bodies. He pushed against the hard body beneath him, and gripping both of Potter's wrists in one hand, brought it behind him, so that Harry's hands were bound behind his back side, being crushed by the combined weight of his and Draco's bodies.

Restricted by Draco's steely grip and draped body, Harry could do little more than arch into Draco as a previously manicured hand travelled along his side and thigh. But he wasn't threatened by the lack of movement his position entailed, only wishing his hands were free so that he could touch Draco in turn.

Draco wanted to fuck Harry badly, but more than that he wanted this. He wanted their whole, unobstructed bodies stretched out, every part touching the other. He wanted to mark his existence onto Potter, sink down onto him if he could. He wanted Harry to feel the full force of his weight, pressing him into the mattress, so that whenever Harry slept, he would be unable to forget Draco's crushing weight on him, be a permanent denizen of this bed and Harry's thoughts.

He moved feverishly, wanting nothing more than to press all of his weight on to the bony body below him, melding and moulding and grinding into one body, aware of nothing but the pair of throbbing flesh, not even registering what his mouth or hands were doing.

Sweat and pre-come lubricated their movements, and mouths sucked any skin available. Their abrasive cheeks rubbed together, and nipples flicked against each other. Harry wanted to feel Draco inside of him, but it seemed that the blonde was too far-gone to waste time in preparations, judging by the mindless way he moved and breathed.

Pressing harder to the point that he knew Harry would find painful, Draco tightened his clasp on the sweaty wrists with his cramped hand. Somewhere in the back of his heated mind, it occurred to him that if his hand was numb, then Harry's hands must surely have thousands of pins and needles jabbing at them. But that thought was lost in the rush of coursing blood, and the panting groans and moans that filled the otherwise silent room. And so, he grinded, grinded until release overtook him, until the world blacked out if only for a few seconds, and he was immersed in completion, bliss. And then a screen of mottled green replaced the blackness behind his closed eyelids, as if the very irises of Harry's eyes had engulfed him in its gaze. He always did find that particular shade of green soothing.

Feeling the warm wetness between them, Harry too climaxed, shouting Draco's name in his mind. He wound his suddenly heavy legs around Draco's waist, a silent gesture that bespoke of support and longing, equivalent to a hug that Draco would never accept, and kissed his damp temple.

Draco let go of Harry's hands, never even aware he had done it, and slumped down beside him. Harry spelled them clean, and lightly held onto a forearm. They didn't speak, Draco not wanting to, and Harry not wanting to break the fragile moment between them.

Theirs was a tentative arrangement that was more than just an "arrangement" now. But neither acknowledged this shift of nature. They would inevitably find each other at times of supreme unrest, and give each other ill-disguised comfort. They were almost lovers once, but war had broken out, and their sketchy relationship had declined into this, something they both hated themselves for.

"Night Draco," Harry whispered, while evening out his breaths and feigning to fall asleep, knowing that Draco wasn't fooled by it. But he also knew that Draco would be grateful to him for offering him a chance to leave without any awkward parting words.

He slipped off the bed, quickly dressed and apparated away without a backward glance, lest temptation be too great and lure him into the arms of the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Lying on his own luxurious, but unsatisfying bed, he wondered who would need the other next, praying to whatever deity willing to listen that both of them would be alive for a next time.

"Good night Harry," Draco mumbled before drifting into a restless sleep full of blood and Harry screaming.


End file.
